Getting in Touch With Ones Feminine Side
by Curreeus
Summary: Holmes dresses in drag in order to investigate a "case", and Watson, somewhat reluctantly, helps out a bit. Slash.


**Summary:** **Holmes dresses in drag in order to investigate a case, and Watson, somewhat reluctantly, helps out a bit. Slash.**

**Warnings: ****Features Holmes and Watson in an established (slashy) relationship, although not too far into said relationship. (If you've read my other fics, then not too long after Unfathomable depths, Unrealised Dreams takes place.) Will end in smut and mentions of sodomy, hence the rating just to be safe. If this offends you, you are wasting your time here.**

**A/N: ****Just a long, random one-shot I've written after seeing a fanpic on DeviantART, which had Holmes cross-dressing, as well as Watson getting all defensive when acting as his "partner." ;)**

**Sorry if it's reall****y weird, I have a strange mind. Anyway, Enjoy! ;)**

**Getting in Touch With Ones Feminine Side**

Watson had been somewhat house-bound for a few weeks, lack of patients and Holmes (who had locked himself in his room, working on something) sending him into severe bouts of boredom. He had re-read his entire bookcase, even the medical theory books that he knew every word of from cover to cover, and had nothing else particularly exciting to do, since Holmes either had a lack of cases or had decided to not include him in one, which he thought was unlikely. He and Holmes did not see each other from morning to sunset, save for when they shared a bed at night, although nothing particularly passionate had happened for weeks now. So Watson was both pleasantly surprised and simultaneously stumped to find Holmes in the sitting room, dressing himself in women's clothing.

"Holmes? Do I even want to know what you are doing?"

The man in question was attempting, in vain, to tie the cord of a corset behind his back. The whalebone ribs of the contraption were cutting harshly into his skin and he could see no reason why punishing oneself in this fashion was considered stylish, but nonetheless, here he was. The petticoat arranged beneath said corset was somewhat twisted, and once Watson had gotten over the initial shock of seeing Holmes in women's clothing, he sighed.

"Holmes, would you mind telling me exactly why you are dressed like a woman?"

As Holmes tried once again to tie a knot in the thin yet sturdy cord of the corset, Watson realised he wasn't going to get an answer and walked over to him.

"You need help with that."

Holmes felt the familiar warmth of affection flood his abdomen and shivered with pleasure at the memory of what those hands could do when Watson put his mind to it as he felt Watson's calloused**,** capable, steady doctors' hands ghost over his back before taking the cords in his fingers and pulling the corset tight. He grimaced as the pain of a tight corset throbbed in his ribs.

"There's no need to be – urgh – _quite _that rough, old boy…"

"That's not entirely my fault Holmes; it's the way these things are designed…"

"And you would know this from experience, would you Watson?"  
Judging from the unnecessary tightening of the corset, Watson was not amused.

Seconds later, he felt a small tug from the knot that had been successfully tied, and Watson stepped away. He sighed, shaking his head as he put it in his hands.

For some bizarre, absurd, odd, and completely nonsensical reason, Holmes' hips stood out a lot more when his waist was held in by the corset, making for a believably feminine figure.

Holmes turned, the loosely fastened petticoat threatening to give way, and although it wasn't like he hadn't seen Holmes' bare legs before, he wasn't sure he could hold himself together at being subjected to them again while Holmes was dressed like this.

"Something wrong, Watson?" said Holmes, a smile finding its way onto his face at Watson's expression.

"No, none at all," said Watson sarcastically, crossing his arms and pointedly looking at the opposite wall as a blush crept over his cheekbones and Holmes chuckled.

Frowning at him and then mercilessly spinning Holmes back around, he grabbed the strings to the petticoat and pulled them tight, tying them quickly into a knot, then tucking the edges of the garment under the corset with some difficulty due to how tight it was.

Spying the rest of Holmes womanly garments on a chair, he made his way over to them and shook them out as Holmes admired himself in the mirror on the wardrobe door.

"Watson, however strange it may seem, I find this completely necessary for a…case I am undertaking at present. My prime suspect happens to be having a social function at his premises, and as I have a distinct lack of a female counterpart, and women are far less suspected when it comes to gathering evidence, you and I will be attending."

Watson snapped his head around to face Holmes, somewhat offended. "You didn't tell me you had a case…" he said, and then he registered the rest of what Holmes had said. "Wait a moment…You don't mean to tell me that we are going as a "couple," Holmes?"

Holmes turned to him and ignored his first statement. "But of course. Why else would I be wearing this ridiculous outfit? Your alias is the esteemed Mr. John Bedley and I am your young bride, Mrs. Shirley Bedley. At some point during the night you are to take me out to the garden for some air, and we will force his garden shed door, gaining full access to any evidence we may find."

Holmes finished grandly, gesturing his hands in the air quite ridiculously, as Watson's face became expressionless.

"You're doing all this so we can break into a garden shed? Doesn't that seem rather ridiculous?"

Holmes looked at Watson with an expression quite similar to that of an exasperated teacher with a particularly slow student. "You underestimate the amount of information that can be gleaned from the humble garden shed alone, Watson. Quite a significant amount of objects that were meant to be hidden can be found in the most obvious of places, due to people like yourself who discount them as plausible hiding places, due to their…ease of access." His face fell at Watson's continuing deadpan expression, and he strode over to him in a business like manner.

"I think you'll find I can manage the rest of this myself, actually," He said huffily, grabbing the garment from Watson's arms. "I expect you to be ready by seven, when we will set out." And with that, he shooed Watson from the room and continued preparing his disguise.

…

"I feel ridiculous," commented Watson quietly an hour and a half later, as he stepped out of the hansom that had brought them to Holmes "primes suspects' premises", holding out a hand out to help Holmes (who was wearing ABSURD women's footwear) down.

With the absence of the 5 O' clock shadow and a long-haired black wig and makeup, Holmes made quite a convincing woman. Although he didn't naturally hold himself like one and was learning, being a spectacular actor helped the process along quite conveniently. He had settled for speaking rarely, and if he had to, in a very quiet and breathy falsetto so as to disguise his natural tenor voice. In fact, Holmes' adeptness at "transforming" effectively into a woman helped Watson to act with him as he would with a lady. He helped Holmes out of the hansom cab, and then held out his arm for him to take.

"YOU feel ridiculous? You're not the one wearing a bloody corset!" Holmes retorted, his voice rising from a whispered tenor into the quiet falsetto he had assumed for his part quite comically as he greeted someone who looked at him curiously at his hurried "Good Evening, sir."

Watson stifled a chuckle, nodded to the random couple, then sighed as if the world was on his shoulders and led Holmes inside.

The inside of the building was very ornate and had the word "expense" written all over it. From the few tables spread around the edge of a large area in the centre of the slate floor to the oversized chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Everything that could possibly be covered in gold edging was, and every man in attendance had a Sir or Lord somewhere in their family if they weren't one themselves. There was even a seventeen piece string ensemble seated at the edge of the cleared slate floor, where couples were dancing.

Watson felt incredibly inadequate as he tried to slink in unnoticed in his suit that had cost him £7.

Of course slinking in is difficult when you have Sherlock Holmes dressed in drag hanging off your arm.

"You owe me for this," growled Watson as Holmes led him to the floor to dance so as to "not look conspicuous". Placing his hand on Holmes' waist and clasping the other firmly, he began to sway, Holmes arranging his arm around Watson's shoulders and letting his hand be grasped. Shakily, neither entirely sure about all of the steps, they managed to perform a slow rendition of a waltz.

A few minutes later, Holmes relaxed; his steps were more confident as he followed Watson's lead. He rested his head on the taller man's chest, and sighed. Watson bit his lip, his heart beating erratically at having Holmes at such close-quarters. It was strange how he still had this effect on him, even though it was months since they'd first become intimate.

Gently Watson shrugged Holmes head of his chest; not because he wanted to but to remain inconspicuous. There were several guests, mainly women, apparently trying to guess who Holmes was and why they hadn't seen "her" before. Watson led him over to one of the tables at the side of the room and pulled out the chair for him before sitting down in the other.

"Well, that was…pleasant," Holmes commented nonchalantly at Watson, still observing those on the floor, who were still looking at him suspiciously.

"Hmm? Oh yes, very."

Holmes just smiled and shook his head, taking a glass of wine from the offered selection of a passing waiter, taking one for Watson and holding it out. Watson sighed and took it, chinking it with Holmes' before drinking.

Watson was starting to relax and stop worrying someone would see right through Holmes when a young man came out of seemingly no-where and tapped Holmes arm.

"Excuse me, my dear, but could I get you a drink?"

Watson's face twisted into a frown as Holmes looked at the man disbelievingly. Watson stood and his grip on his cane tightened as he felt suddenly protective of Holmes.

"Err…I…" Holmes was stuttering in his breathy falsetto, observing gout the corner of his eye the empty glasses on the table and Watson's tension, continuing to stutter. How he managed to sound that feminine and…_erotic… _Watson would never know.

"Pardon me sir, but I think you'll find that _she _is with me." It took Watson a conscious effort to call Holmes a she, but he slipped it out without too much difficulty.

The man's face fell as he took in Watson's defensive expression, and he sauntered away, apparently disappointed at losing his "catch".

Holmes smiled innocently at Watson as he sat back down, his head on his palm, his elbow on the table. "That was awfully possessive of you…you know, I could just call him back and let him get me a drink just to make him happy," he whispered in his normal voice.

"No!" said Watson a little too loudly. Holmes' grin grew wider. Watson blushed.

"It's just…we don't' need to attract unwanted attention."

"Ah yes, of course," agreed Holmes sarcastically, still in his usual tenor voice. Then, looking around at the now scarce women that were still looking his way, he placed a hand dramatically and daintily, palm outwards, against his forehead. "Oh John, it truly is STIFLING in here, mightn't we go out for some air?" His female voice and the use of his first name (something Holmes only did when they were at home and in bed) stoked a reaction in Watson he'd rather not disclose to anyone.

"Of course, _darling,_" said Watson, catching on. He stood and once again held out an arm for Holmes to grip onto, which he did in as petite a fashion as he could manage. Watson then led him to a door to the left of the floor and out into the cool night and the garden, which was lit brightly by a full moon.

There was a gravel path that led across the lawn to the mere, circling around it before rejoining itself like a snake biting its own tail. An ornately decorated wrought iron seat was partway around the circumference of the water, and seeing as there were other couples in the garden to witness Holmes' break in of the garden shed, Watson led him over to it, seating him before himself yet again.

Once on the seat, Holmes slid slowly and what could be considered as stealthily across to Watson so their legs were brushing, albeit through layers of tulle, cotton and wool, but still touching enough to get Watson to blush.

"Watson," said Holmes, blinking slowly at Watson from under heavy lashes and layers of ochre, speaking lowly in his normal voice. "You have been decidedly embarrassed and blushing most incredulously all night. Are you sure you're feeling well?"

Watson shook his head, sighing, and then spoke in a low voice. "Yes, Holmes, I'm feeling just fine. I only happen to have my lov-…best friend hanging off my arm dressed as a woman."

Even though they had shared a bed for months now, Watson still found it difficult to talk about their intimacy without becoming incredibly embarrassed. Not because of what they did, but because Holmes always made him feel giddy as a schoolgirl when he was trying to be seductive, and had therefore seen him at his most depraved and his most aroused. It made him embarrassed to think that someone could hold that much sway over his emotions and therefore actions with only a few words or movements.

"Yes, you do appear to be somewhat distracted by that. Do you…like it? That is, me dressed like this. You haven't been able to take your eyes off me all night, and I'm not sure I don't like the attention." A sly grin slithered its way onto his face, and he fixed Watson with an expression that made him look like some sort of devilish imp, attempting to draw Watson into his web of sin. And Watson wasn't entirely sure he didn't want to be drawn in.

"Well I'm not entirely sure I don't' like giving you that attention when you're like this," he replied just as cryptically, trying to keep his head steady with Holmes at close proximity.

Holmes' smile grew wider, and he leaned just that little bit closer.

"Really? How…intriguing."

Watson's train of thought was starting to falter, just as it did every time Holmes was this close. He was finding it difficult to form a coherent sentence; instead he began to stutter, having forgotten what Holmes had just said. "I…err…well, that is…uh…yes. Erm…" Holmes blinked again, even slower.

"Oh Watson, it would be most apt for you to simply stay silent and let me manage this."

Watson leaned back, horizontally across the seat as Holmes continued to lean forward, and tilted his head to the right in query. "Manage what, exactly?"

Holmes didn't answer with words, instead just snaking his hands into Watson's hair and pulling him forward into a kiss.

Watson's eyes shot wide open, and he placed his hands on Holmes' chest, pushing him away somewhat forcefully. "Holmes, have you completely lost it? This is hardly our rooms in Baker Street!" He looked over the back of the seat, towards the garden, which was empty of all life save for one couple that seemed to be making their way back inside, fortunately ignorant of the drama unfolding on the seat.

Holmes looked at him quizzically. "Yes, but you forget one detail – I'm a woman. There's nothing unusual about this, in the eye of the casual onlooker."

Watson slyly turned his head to look back at Holmes as the last couple disappeared inside, and ignored Holmes' previous comment. "Holmes – you realise you can go ahead with your plan now, don't you?"

Holmes leaned forward yet again, attempting to resume his contact with Watson's lips. "It can wait."

Watson's suspicions were immediately roused – Holmes was never distracted by anything when he was on a case, not even the attractive potential of several hours "distraction" with Watson. He grinned slyly at Holmes, catching onto the man's intentions at last.

"Holmes," Said Watson falsely cheery and conversationally, holding the man at bay with a hand on his chest, the wads of padding on said appendage feeling unfamiliar and strange. "You don't have a case at present, do you?"

"That depends on what aspect of my occupations you are dissecting. If -"

"Professionally. You do not have a _professional _case at present, do you?"

Holmes tilted his head to the side, cocked as if he were a faithful dog that was attempting to understand its infuriatingly complicated master.

"No, but I do have one that has no resolution and grows ever more complicated the more I put my mind to work on it."

Watson sighed, closing his eyes and fingering the bridge of his nose with the hand that wasn't restraining Holmes. "And what case might that be Holmes?"

He felt Holmes press against the restraining pressure of his hand and he felt Holmes' breath on his face, so he opened his eyes. Holmes dark brown eyes were inches from his own. They were reflecting the moonlight, yet were dilated, and Watson suddenly realised that Holmes was as aroused by the close proximity as he was.

"Yourself. And the relationship we've found ourselves in. It puzzles me that any one person can have as much control over another as you do over me. It's incredible…fantastic, even, the emotions I feel so intensely when I am in your company. And I sense the contempt you feel over the fact that we have to live as quietly as we must in this society - so I decided to make some …enhancements to my appearance, and make that less of a worry."

Watson smiled. "I know exactly what you mean. And I am encouraged by your enthusiasm. However –" He cut himself off by gently pressing his own lips back to Holmes', the contact, although gentle, enough to make both of them shudder with delight, and then he pulled away slowly and teasingly to continue. "I think this brand of behaviour is better suited to the privacy in Baker Street, don't you?" Holmes pressed forward against Watson's hand, still on his chest, then sighed and pulled back. "I suppose you're right, as you were correct two hours ago – I have no information to gain from this households' garden shed save for what implements they use to cut their lawn and how thorough their gardener is."

Watson laughed, then pushed Holmes off of him so he could stand up, pulling the other man up with him, albeit with skirts in need of rearranging.

"In answer to your earlier question, yes, you are quite fetching in a dress, and I think that I should keep your excellent company in my bed as soon as possible."

Holmes smiled, his hand finding its way into Watson's. "Well, there isn't any time to waste then, is there?"

Neither was feeling particularly inclined to make their way back through the house, so brushing Holmes' skirts down quickly, Watson almost dragged Holmes to the back of the garden and gave him a leg up over the fence before following without too much trouble, despite dirtying the hem of Holmes' dress and muddying the knees of Watson's trousers.

Neither really cared. The cabby who stopped for them barely took a second look at them after Watson gave him the address and they got inside.

The ride to Baker Street barely took ten minutes. Their mouths barely left each others, tongues dancing and lips gracing mouths, necks, jaw lines… the kisses were rough, fast, and utterly delicious, and they both had to fight the urge to rip off their clothing and fumble their way to completion right there on the hansom cab floor. Instead they had to settle for touching everywhere they could reach, eliciting shivers and low moans from the instigators' counterpart as they explored each others mouths and bodies as thoroughly as possible, Holmes straddling Watson's lap so their respective incessant erections were pressed together, even through all the layers of cloth, causing the entire thing to be a torturous tease the whole way to Baker Street, both in dire need of taking it further yet being unable to lest the cabby find them out.

They attempted to appear composed as Watson paid the man, who honestly couldn't give a damn what they looked like, then Watson grabbed Holmes' hand and pulled him inside and up the stairs, leading him into his own room and falling against the wall as he became occupied with Holmes' blouse, his tongue trailing around in Holmes' ear.

Then things got REALLY heated.

Holmes' clothes, although more bulky than usual menswear, proved to be not too much trouble to Watson, who had experience in the area of removing such garments. Nimble fingers worked on knots tied only hours before to be undone easily, cloth falling to the floor as Holmes worked on the many buttons of Watson's shirt to slide off the garment. Holmes' gasped with relief as the corset was undone by Watson's searching fingers and his chest was released.

"Thank goodness, I'm never wearing that infernal thing again. C'est horibile."

Watson smiled at his breathless tone, gliding his hands down Holmes' chest to rest at the draw stringed waistband of his skirts. He leaned forward, so that his lips were barely an inch from Holmes' ear, causing the man to shiver.

"Pity… you were so attractive in it, too."

"Oh, just get on with it." Holmes replied with a bite to Watson's lip as he moved in yet again, ravishing Watson's mouth with his own. Watson reciprocated, removing the petticoat, skirts and drawers on Holmes' person and throwing them onto the floor before carrying him to the bed, the man in question removing the trousers and underwear that still covered Watson and putting him in the same state of undress Holmes was in – stark naked.

It was a rush from then for a while – all either could feel was the others hands, their mouths that were glued together, their bodies touching in the most arousing manner as Watson ground his erection against Holmes', and Holmes reciprocated likewise, causing them both to groan in ecstasy.

"W-Watson…" said Holmes, pulling away, causing Watson to whine in complaint. "I-I need you… to be inside me. Please."

Watson's eyebrows shot towards his hairline as he realised Holmes' intentions. "Are you sure? That would -"

"I know. I just need it. Please?"

Watson smiled, and then fumbled at the side of the bed for his medical bag and the oil he kept within it, just in case he found himself in a situation where it was needed.

"I'll try and be gentle. Just relax and trust me."

"Don't I always?" replied Holmes, before giving himself up to Watson completely, the man in question taking Holmes further into the realms of pleasure than Holmes ever thought possible.

Coherent thought did not return until hours afterwards.

…

Holmes make-up had smudged off his face and onto the pillow, creating a strange lined effect on his face, and his mouth was slightly open, emitting small breathy snores. How peculiar that one of London's greatest minds, if not the greatest, was so peaceful and childlike in sleep. Watson sighed, content, simply watching his lover sleep, the sunlight coming in through the window lighting up the room with a colour reminiscent of sunlit honey.

Eventually Holmes' eyes slid open; he stretched his arms and pecked Watson's cheek before almost falling out of the bed on his way to the washbasin. He absently scratched his tangled mop of hair and half-heartedly attempting to pull on a pair of trousers (most likely Watson's) before Watson too vacated the bed and wrapped his arms around Holmes' waist from behind, pressing his lips to Holmes' temple, eliciting a little sound of satisfaction from the detective as he leaned back into Watson's chest.

_It might not look it now, _thought Watson as he found last nights' shirt hanging precariously from a lampshade, and he turned to Holmes (the culprit of where it had ended up), who was now wiping off his makeup with the towel.

_But he does make a damned fine woman. _

…

**Alright, alright. So I can't write proper smut. But, it's a first for me****, with anyone. If it sucked then I'm sorry, but at least I tried, right?**

**I'm also absolutely atrocious at conclusions. ****Anyways, hope you like it. ;D If it's really weird and you don't, sorry you didn't. **

**I still have more plot bunnies, and at least three fics that will come out of them. This is only one of the strange little ideas I have floating around.**

**Some little quips: I always thought Holmes was a tenor, if he's not then I'll remember that for future reference. ;)**** And I don't know how much Watson's suit would cost; I thought £7 was appropriate, seeing as things were less expensive then than they are now. Plus I'm Australian. I don't use pounds, I use Australian dollars. That means I don't really know what normal pounds are equivalent to, never mind pounds 120 years ago. :D AND – pardon my French. I don't actually speak it, only a few random sentences. Most of them I learned off of the Sherlock Holmes movie – the other three or so I learned off my parents. XD**

**I'm not entirely familiar with peri****od women's clothing, so I'm not sure how they would have been fastened, but I'd say I'm fairly safe with strings. :D**

**Anyways, please review! Tell me what you thought, otherwise I won't know, obviously. XD**


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